Red Bench at the Station
by HopelessOsaka
Summary: LockonAlle:: Lockon and Allelujah are a year late to a concert, stuck in a city full of immobile people bathed in gray. And Hallelujah... well...


**pairing:** Lockon/Allelujah

**dedication: azazael kizoku **for pains, &** pikacheeka **because you stopped by again3

**setting:** a.u., mild fantasy

**summary: **Lockon and Allelujah are a year late to a concert, stuck in a city full of immobile people bathed in gray. You wouldn't believe how Hallelujah's involved.

Inspired by **azazael kizoku's** gorgeous fanart sketch of Lockon and Alle waiting on a bench. –p–

Now with gift!fanart from **animegoil** linked at the profile. ;O

I like this one. It was fun to write. :D

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**RED BENCH AT THE STATION**

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The red bench at the station is the only distinguishing characteristic to the city, and there are currently two men who sprawl against it.

"I can't believe he broke down." He threads through the man's soft chestnut tendrils indolently.

"It's been thirty minutes," the man on his lap murmurs, hat shielding his eyes from the sunshine peaking in from behind Allelujah's head, "and you still haven't stopped wallowing, Alle. Relax; he's made of rust and metal, and has gone through worse. We'll make it in time for The Concert."

"We've been trying to reach The Concert for the last three hundred sixty-five days, Lockon. Will we ever make it in time?" Allelujah sighs. He watched the ghosts of people, bathed in grey, standing idle as the sliding walkways moved along. "Where are we, anyway? I can't keep track of these countries anymore. Especially this kind."

"You never do, I often don't, but he does. For now, what does it matter, anyhow? As long as there's Haros and their technicians, we can get him fixed up." Lockon turns his head to its side, squinting at the figures not a metre away, and wonders how the landscape and its people could reach such diatonic shades in this daylight.

"I'm uncomfortable here. Where are they all going? Are they trying to get to the same place? What are they trying to reach? —I keep thinking that," Allelujah admits quietly.

"Watch it. Or you'll turn out as grey as they are." Lockon turns back, then presses his face against the younger man's pressed shirt, "Besides, isn't that just an excu—"

"_No_," Allelujah emphasizes, bowing his body down to meet Lockon with a serious gaze— "you understand, don't you, Lockon? He's like another half of me."

Lockon squeezes his eyes shut tight.

"Well. Even if I do notice," he mutters, "it's hard to pay attention because he's a talking car. And a biting one, too. …But. If he is another half of you, then,"

Lockon turns back to the younger man, and their noses brush.

"…why are you so hateful of yourself that you'd drive yourself into that tar pit, Alle?" he queries softly.

Allelujah is silent for awhile, dimly staring at Lockon.

Then he says, "I should've broken down, instead." He pulls himself back, glances away.

Immediately, Lockon lets his arms scramble, heaves his body up.

"It'd be harder to fix _you_," he tells him, "you're a man—"

"_If you'd only kiss him,_" Allelujah snaps, before his tone drops suddenly— "he'd be a man, too. And…"

He hesitates. "You'd like Hallelujah better, I think."

There is a moment.

Then Lockon lets out a noise: possibly choked laughter, Allelujah suspects, and reels his head round in protest, only to find lips pressing against his, softly.

"… Shouldn't it be you who has to kiss him? He's your other half." Lockon breathes, collapsing back on top of the younger man's thighs. "Besides, I like _you_, Allelujah."

Allelujah can only stare for a moment. Then a smile of contentment overcomes his features. It matches the glow of Lockon's satisfactory grin.

They barely take it in at first, but then, there are the flashes of grey that sweep past noticeably. Lockon gives only a glance before lugging the baggage by the bench up to rest behind his head, while Allelujah watches longer, searches out something.

"Hallelujah."

The car hits the break, rumbling over the moving walkways, rupturing most of them in the process— without a care for those who are still scattering from his haphazard course— "_Don't think I didn't see any of that!_" comes the mechanic cry tinged with human fury: "_What'd I say about touching Allelujah, Loockooon!?_"

"Even if I kissed him, would he like me, you think?" asks Lockon, the grin still stretched from side to side.

Allelujah smiles once more, and says, "He'd bite you."

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**END**

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Kino's Journey, whaat? _I don't know what you're talking about…_

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End file.
